


Bitter Kisses Chap My Lips

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Series: Finding Myself (And Maybe You) [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cassian Drinks To Deal With His Feelings, Cassian-centric, F/M, Gen, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: "The look Jyn gives him burns across his skin. “And why would I follow him?”“Because Captain Andor can provide you with a bunk for the night,” Mon Mothma says, as serene as can be.The Captain Andor in question takes a long moment to keep himself from swearing in the middle of the Rebellion barracks."Or: Cassian takes on a bunk guest and finds the entire experience...confusing. Sequel to "Home is a Bitter Word (Unless It's On Your Tongue)".





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to title this RebelCaptain series "Character Studies That Include Masturbation", but that didn't seem like it was too classy.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who encouraged me to write Cassian's POV as a secondary piece to "Home is a Bitter Word". I hope you like it! XOXO

Mon Mothma points out the blood on his jacket before he has a chance to leave the war room. Cassian catches a glimpse of it in the metal supports of the hall just outside and considers, briefly, licking his thumb in some attempt to wipe it away. The blood is long dried, though, and it’s not like it’s the only stain settled into his jacket. He’s collected samples from all sorts of life across the galaxy; it’s arguably a fitting addition.

He turns away from the support as the war room door slides open again. His steps echo as he starts walking down the hall, heading, he supposes, for the barracks. He doesn’t turn around when he hears a crisp, feminine voice murmuring something beneath her breath, nor does he turn when he hears Mon Mothma murmur back. He walks on, tapping his pace out on his leg until the voices disappear.

He keeps his pace brisk, even as the quiet grows, and scans the halls with a casual yet guarded eye. There’s been an influx of revolutionaries since he’d left; unfamiliar faces pass by in packs, all of them young and free of signs of stress. He comes to a stop as a group of them wanders past; they’re too busy laughing, slapping each other on the back, to see him. Cassian watches them go for longer than he should, then shakes his head and starts forward again.

A hand claps down on his shoulder. Cassian’s hand twitches towards his blaster and his body goes tight. Instead of whirling, however, he merely glances behind him.

Captain Highland wears clothes as dark and bloodied as Cassian’s own. He offers up a toothy, knowing smile and falls into step beside him, all the while digging his fingers into Cassian’s shoulder.

“Been a while, Captain Andor,” he says. His too-large teeth sharpen the consonants of the title. “For a while there we thought you weren’t coming back.”

“Weren’t you in Wild Space last time I heard from you?” Cassian replies. He keeps his voice friendly as he shrugs Highland’s hand off of his shoulder.

The steel-grey captain shakes his head and tucks his hands into the small of his back. His eyes are too wide to focus on properly, so Cassian fixes his gaze on the path in front of him.

“I was pulled back in after they moved a damn star destroyer over Jedha,” Highland says, shaking his head. “The Senator wanted to regroup once we had a better understanding of the Empire’s forces. It seems they’re becoming more adapted at smelling out spies. Our information pool is going to run dry soon if someone doesn’t bring anything new in.”

It’s not quite an insult, but Cassian bristles, anyway. The shadows of the war room hadn’t hidden the dark bags beneath many of the officers’ eyes; Cassian’s sure that he has his own, though he’s so used to them that they’re hardly worth noticing anymore. Highland’s face is as fresh as a recruit’s, and Cassian has to bite his tongue to keep from responding.

The white walls of the barracks sting after the darkness of the war room, but Cassian is long used to the burn. Highland stays at his side as he continues forward, keeping his head bent, as though the conversation is still going. Cassian does his best not to roll his eyes and takes a sharp turn around a corner.

He starts to run through a task list in his head when Highland begins to speak again. K-2SO will want to know which ship they’ll be taking to Jedha before the night is out; the robot will scope it, suspicious in a way that is neither programmed nor taught, but rather a little of both. _Hypothetically_ , Cassian will have to pack essentials to take with him when he goes; it’s far more likely that he’ll repurpose his bag from Coruscant, clothes and tooth tabs alike. He wants to score a shower before the night is out, though – the ‘fresher in his bunk is old, built up with the first round of revolutionaries, and he benefits for it.

(His back is a mass of scars that he doesn’t bother trying to look at, anymore. He’s broken his collarbone once and his wrists at least twice; only the Force and the bacta tanks know what else he’s fractured on a mission. The hot water the flows out of his shower doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helps. He needs the help.)

Beside him, Highland’s inane dribbling comes to an abrupt stop. Cassian blinks, his step faltering as his muscles grow tense – well, tenser.

“Ali!” Highland calls, spreading his arms wide. His hand brushes against Cassian’s chest; it’s large enough to shield him from the shock of a red and white blur that comes sprinting towards the both of them.

“Highland, you Hutt-spawn!” Ali butts her head against the Captain’s with a familiar fondness, careful to keep the curves of her horns away from the more delicate parts of his face. She breaks out of his hold with ease and turns to Cassian. She offers up a general salute, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes that speaks to mischief. “And Captain Andor. Thought you were going to be stuck with our...guest for a little while longer.”

“Mon Mothma has taken her in,” Cassian says. He turns his attention to the dirt that’s gathered beneath his fingernails. “She’ll be coming with us in the morning when we head for Jedha.”

Ali lets out a low whistle. “Pack light,” she says with a grimace. “I’ve been on hotter planets before, but those were at least a dry heat. Keep everything close to you, too; the Holy City is full of thieves.”

Highland snorts; Cassian does not.

Ali joins their group as Cassian begins to move again, lingering by Highland’s side. Cassian picks up a third of the words she says and grunts whenever she addresses him, but he knows she’ll take it lightly.

He rounds another of the barrack’s infinite corners and hesitates for a moment, frowning at the unfamiliar hallway that spills out in front of him. Highland bumps into his back and swears sharply, though Cassian doesn’t catch exactly how he’s being insulted. He doesn’t have to turn around, though, to know when Highland’s scowl turns into a smirk.

“It really has been a while, hasn’t it?” Highland says.

“Longer than I thought,” Cassian replies.

He hears Ali chuckle, and it almost – almost – makes him relax. “I brought you a plant from Felucia last time you were here,” she says, amusement filtering through her voice. “I’ll get you five credits that it’s dead by now.”

“I’m not going to take a bet that I know I’ll lose,” Cassian replies. He turns back around in time to see Ali laugh in full and manages to crack a smile in return.

A flutter of white appears, coming around the corner. Cassian freezes as a familiar mop of red hair comes into view; his eyes flick down automatically and land on unkempt, disgruntled brown.

“Greetings, Captain,” Mon Mothma calls.

Cassian’s salute is an automatic thing; at his side, Ali and Highland do the same. A muscle stretches in his back and makes him grimace, but he holds the position, waiting for Mon Mothma to relieve him.

She doesn’t. Instead, she sends an innocuous glance towards the woman at her side.

Cassian flicks an eyebrow upward for less than a second, then sends a look towards the infamous Jyn Erso.

A muscle in her jaw tenses as he looks at her. She crosses her arms over her chest, free of the compulsion to hold until Mon Mothma lets her go.

Cassian looks away from her and back towards the Senator. Her small smile informs him of his defeat.

“At ease,” she says, and Cassian heaves a sigh of relief as his arm drops back to his side. “Jyn, I believe that Captain Andor will be able to assist you more effectively than I will, at this point. Don’t hesitate to comm me, however, should you need assistance.”

He’s not sure who gave up their comm so their newest guest could have one (or where she could’ve stolen one from), but he isn’t about to debate it. “With me, Erso,” he says. The snap in his voice makes her flinch, and there’s a sudden pang in his chest, but he doesn’t take the order back.

The look she gives him burns across his skin. “And why would I do that?”

“Because Captain Andor can provide you with a bunk for the night,” Mon Mothma says, as serene as the moon in the sky.

The Captain Andor in question takes a long moment to keep himself from swearing in the middle of the Rebellion barracks. He hears Highland snort behind him and focuses, instead, on counting the breaths he takes while Mon Mothma continues.

“Isn’t that correct, Captain?”

“As you say, Senator,” Cassian says through gritted teeth. Centered, he picks a spot just above Jyn Erso’s head and stares at it, waiting for Mon Mothma to dismiss him.

He can feel the senator staring at him with her standard authoritative sternness, but there’s something…amused beneath her steely gaze. “I will see both of you in the morning before your departure,” she says, at last. She tucks her hands behind her back and glides through the crowd of officers in front of her, leaving Jyn like an awkward spot of dirt against the white barrack walls. “Have a good night, Jyn. Captain.”

“Have a good night, Senator.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow as Jyn’s voice lilts down the hall, but he still refuses to look at her. At his side, Highland lets out a huff.

The two men begin to walk away together. For a moment, the brush of Highland’s arm against Cassian’s own feels almost reassuring; he’s not alone, it seems, in the distrust he has for the Rebellion’s newest ally.

Ali lingers behind, judging by the nervous glance Highland sends backwards. Cassian doesn’t hear a lick of conversation rise up from either woman, so it’s only a guess as to whether or not Jyn is following behind them. He doesn’t turn around to find out.

“Think of it this way,” Highland says, his voice too low for anyone but Cassian to hear. “If she’s with you, then you can plumb her for information.”

“We already interrogated her today,” Cassian mutters back. “She’s as emptyheaded as a whisper bird and twice as plucky.”

“Hopefully not as annoying,” Highland grumbles. He casts another glance backward as the duo rounds a corner. Whatever he sees, it makes the wrinkles around his eyes crease with amusement. “If you want a place to cool your head, my door’s open,” he says. “Come by and see if you’re still as shit at sabacc as the last time.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow and, for a moment, considers it. The whole of his brain aches at the idea of spending more than a few minutes longer around Highland and his steel-blooded stink, but Jyn Erso…Jyn Erso is a can of miniaturized exogorths that he doesn’t have the faculties to deal with yet. “We’ll see,” he says, at last.

Highland nudges him and shoots off another toothy smile. At the next intersection of hallways they come to, he breaks away from the group, waving as he goes. Cassian hears one set of footsteps pause, but he doesn’t stop moving.

When he rounds another corner, he sends a glance backwards for half a second, maybe less. Ali has gone off with Highland. It’s only him and Jyn.

His bunk is at the end of one of the longest halls in the barracks. The sight of it warms a part of his heart he prefers not to address; his affection for his shower, he realizes, is a little out of control. As he comes to a stop in front of his key padd, he sees Jyn loping her way down the hall behind him. The spark of warmth sputters out as he punches in his room code.

He wipes his face clean before looking at Jyn again. “You’ll stay here tonight,” he says, nodding towards the room.

Jyn narrows her eyes. She’s shorter than he realized, and her bottom lip looks like it’s been chewed raw, but Cassian doesn’t comment. He watches as she peeks over the threshold of the darkened room and does his best not to sigh.

“Go inside, Erso,” he says.

“Into your bunk?” Jyn doesn’t look at him when she speaks, but he can hear the incredulity in her voice.  

“Yes, into my bunk,” he says. “Don’t worry; I won’t be sleeping here tonight. You will.”

The look Jyn gives him when she faces him again is sharp, almost piercing. Cassian stares back at her, impassive, and watches as the gears tick behind her eyes.

The step she takes over his threshold feels like a victory, but Cassian doesn’t relish in it. “The ‘fresher is over to the right,” he says as she takes another step inside. He fits himself just outside of the door frame, as tense as ever. He watches the lines of her back as she walks inside, ready for her to turn and run. “Use the towels, if you want, but make sure to fold them up when you’re done. I’ll let one of the droids know that they need picked up in the morning.”

“Classy,” he hears her say, though it’s more to herself than him. He huffs out a gust of laughter and blinks, surprised at himself.

“Welcome home,” he grumbles, then turns away. He shuts the door before she can say a word, before she can even turn. It almost hurts, listening to the door hiss shut.

He lingers, eyes closed, listening. He’s not sure what he expects – maybe she’ll pound on the door, imprisoned again; maybe she’ll scream and curse.

No noise comes out of his bunk. Cassian takes a breath, lets it out, then sucks in another. When the hall remains quiet, he opens his eyes and walks away.

This section of the barracks reeks with age; the floor beneath his feet is cracked in a way it shouldn’t be. The security measures that were instituted (droid patrols, active watch, to the point where precaution verged on paranoia) have been reduced, here, to little more than key padds in front of every room.

Cassian eyes them as he walks past, a little aimless in his path. Highland’s quarters are always an option, but Cassian’s stomach curls inward at the mere thought. The days have been long, and his body feels like it’s a planet of its own, covered in a thin layer of dirt and aching with an age he knows he hasn’t earned.

He really, _really_ needs a drink.

One of the doors beside him slides open, and Cassian fights not to jump at the noise. The man who struts out is unfamiliar, but the pride in his step is more than enough to profile him. He’s newly promoted, he’s overconfident – hell, he’s probably a pilot. Cassian slows his steps and lets the man pull ahead of him. He watches with a cautious eye until he’s disappeared.

With a guilt reluctance, Cassian turns back towards the man’s abandoned room. He stops in front of the room’s key padd and tilts his head, considering. His gloved hand hovers over the touch-responsive screen and watches as it shimmers, not quite recognizing but sensing, nonetheless.

Cassian glances to his left, then to his right. The hall is empty and quiet.

He drops to his knees and goes to work.

The skills he’s picked up as a soldier for the Rebellion are…unconventional, to say the least. Mon Mothma’s spy network has to blend in with the ruffians and criminals of space; when Cassian had been a child, teetering behind his mother’s steady legs, the senator had crouched down to his level and declared that he’d had a wildness behind his eyes. She’d capitalized on that wildness as he’d gotten older, and in turn, Cassian had learned to use it to his advantage.

If that advantage happens to be a better shower than the sonics in the new wing, well – who’s around to judge him?

He pops the control panel of the key padd off and sets it softly on the floor. He flips open a pouch on his belt and feels around for his picks; once retrieved, he brushes the tips against one another, sending sparks flying as an electrical current springs to life between them.

He keeps his hands as still as possible as he moves forward. The wires of the key padd aren’t terribly complicated, but he knows better than to believe the alarms of old have simply been removed.

The same muscle in his back stings as he shifts. With a swift flick of his wrist, the key padd fizzles. Cassian lets out a grunt of success as the door to the bunk slides open. He tucks his picks away, refits the control panel, and glances down the hall for a final time, then slips inside.

The door slides closed behind him without any difficulty. Cassian tries not to feel smug as he slips out of his shoes, all the while taking in the room around him.

There’s not much – it’s entirely possible this particular recruit is still transitioning between bunks, but Cassian doesn’t think it’s likely. Proud or not, there’s not a fighter among them who was carrying much on them when they came frolicking into the Rebellion. Some of the disdain in Cassian’s chest abates, but only a little.

He finishes toeing out of his shoes and looks around for the ‘fresher. It’s clean when he steps inside, with towels hanging against the rack set off by the door. Cassian slips out of his clothes and leaves them in a pile before pushing the glass door of the shower open and climbing inside.

The rush of hot water that comes crashing over his head makes him smile. Cassian lifts his chin and lets it run through the stubble he’s had no time to shave away; if an otherwise embarrassing noise escapes him, at least there’s no one around to hear it. He looks down and watches as dirt and dust and _work_ skims off of him, circling twice before disappearing down the drain.

So he’s a little over-fond of the Rebellion’s water showers. Sue him.

He turns his back to the spray of water and lets his eyes drift shut. Tension falls away from him, just like dirt, and he’s almost giddy, making a fool of himself in someone else’s shower.

It feels good enough that when his hand begins to drift over his thigh, he is entirely unsurprised.

Space and espionage do not often present opportunities for a man to take care of himself beyond sleeping and eating. Despite the general emptiness of his ship, Cassian doesn’t bother to let his imagination wander when he’s on a mission; he doesn’t imbibe in the many cities he’s sent away to. He explains this away to himself as a need to avoid distractions.

A sprig of guilt flowers up alongside the pleasure in his belly, however, as his hands move over his thighs. Cassian opens his eyes for a second, maybe longer, then shoves it aside.

He’s half hard when he takes his cock in hand, buzzing with want and the excitement of doing something he’s not supposed to. He leans up against one of the misting walls and braces himself with his free arm as he strokes, flitting through his memory to find something, anything to fix on.

He’s had…ideas. A woman whose face he can’t quite see for the darkness of the room, pressing her lips to his with a gentleness he doesn’t deserve. He imagines her pushing him back onto a bed ten times as soft as Rebellion regulations; imagines her straddling him, rutting against him through his trousers as she shrugs out of her shirt. He wants to bury himself in her tits, gasp as she rides him through layers of fabric, watch as her hair falls out of its bun and comes cascading down past her shoulders.

Cassian hisses and speeds up his strokes, all the while biting into his bottom lip.

He can see her working off his belt and tossing it aside; helps her slide off his trousers, then his pants. His shirt stays on for some reason he can’t explain, and he knows that it’s too warm, that the fabric is sticking to his skin, but _she_ doesn’t care. She drags her wetness against his cock, and he gasps. She weaves a hand through his hair and tugs, not quite hurting, but just enough to make him open his eyes and feel her name catch in his throat.

He doesn’t know if he comes before he slips inside her or not. All he knows is that she is in control, she knows what she’s doing, and it feels _damn good_.

Cassian grinds his molars together as he comes against the wall of the shower. His orgasm shakes through him and releases stars behind his eyelids, and his mouth falls open, letting delighted swears slip off of his tongue.

He stays there with the water beating against his side for a long, long time.

*

When he finally slips out of the borrowed room, the light on Yavin Four has died. Cassian runs a hand through his still-damp hair and keeps a steady pace as he marches down the hall. Leaving the barracks is less than appealing, but if he stays in them, he runs a higher risk of running into someone he knows. His fingers itch for a bottle, something to help him deal with the guilt still niggling at his lower belly.

He cleaned up after himself, at least. Cassian frowns and winces as one of the white lights of the hall flickers, the result of a dying bulb.

He knows his history is…shaded, at best. He knows that his hands, spread out under Mon Mothma’s stern gaze, are covered with blood. Freedom, though, beats in his chest right next to his heart; he’s used to it, now, the sound of a body hitting the pavement; he’s used to the feel of a trigger beneath his fingers. He can’t sleep without the smell of gunpowder burning its way through his nose. This is who he is. This is who he has become.

His hands are shaking at his side, but Cassian doesn’t quite notice.

There are stills spread throughout the barracks, though the best are closer to the airstrip, where tubs of synthetic alcohol can be better hidden. Cassian slinks his way into the mess and scans the post-dinner crowd that remains, eyes slipping over the unfamiliar in favor of –

There she is.

He slips into the seat next to a twi’lek whose skin has gone purple with age. She glances at him sidelong, too busy chatting with a friend to pay him mind. Cassian sets his hands on the table and taps his nails against the ceramic at several different intervals, all while allowing his gaze to wander through the crowd.

She takes him back to her bunk, half a click later, and gives him a bottle of booze that tastes more like jet fuel than anything digestible. Cassian tucks it under his arm, slips out of the barracks, then climbs up onto the roof. He watches the stars and takes intermittent sips from the bottle, wondering idly where it is, exactly, that he intends to sleep tonight.

 By the time he’s finished the bottle, he’s too blasted to care.

His assent onto the roof had been a practiced one; his climb down is…not so much. Cassian swears as he tumbles onto the ground, but he rolls, avoiding a broken arm or the fragments of glass that used to be his bottle. He clambers to his feet, swaying slightly, and does a quick check of his belongings.

It takes him too long to realize that his blaster is back on the roof.

Cassian pinches the bridge of his nose and swears up a long streak, then waves the thing away. He’ll get it in the morning before he has to board whatever carrier is taking him off to Jedha. The world is spinning too fast for him to be in any use in combat, anyway.

The white light of the barracks seers his eyes when he steps inside. Cassian trips over his own feet and into the nearest wall, then gropes at it in an attempt to right himself.

The walk back to his bunk feels like it takes _hours_. He’s barely able to key in his code in order to get inside; his head feels spinny, but not unpleasantly so. When the door finally slides open, he lumbers inside without a second thought.

Something hisses in the dark. His buzz doesn’t break, exactly, but Cassian’s hand flies down to his belt. He reaches for the blaster that isn’t there and blinks into the darkness.

When the right neurons finally fire, a few seconds later, his hand falls to his side. “Relax, Erso,” he drawls as the door slides shut. “It’s just me.”

He thinks he sees her scowl, her sharp teeth glinting in the dark, and something lurches sideways in his chest. He follows the feeling straight onto his bed, faceplanting into the regulation mattress.

“I thought you said you weren’t sleeping here,” he hears Jyn say. She’s whispering, praise the Force, but there’s something about her tone – nervousness? Is she nervous? – that makes Cassian frown.

He rolls onto his back and blinks up at the ceiling, watching as it spins. His eyes grow watery when he tries to move again, and he swears, borrowing the language of the Hutts for grotesque effect.

Jyn is blinking at him, when he turns to look at her, with confusion written into the furrows of her brow.

Cassian takes in the mess of blankets she’s wrapped around her knees and raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing on the floor?”

The chill that settles into her gaze raises goosebumps on his skin. “It’s comfortable,” she says. Her accent bleeds through every syllable of the phrase.

“That’s idiotic,” Cassian replies. The words feel like pillows spilling out of his mouth. “Rebellion mattresses aren’t that bad.”

“I’ve had more comfortable lodgings with the Empire.”

Cassian narrows his eyes and feels his mouth drop down into a scowl. He flops back down onto his back and crosses his arms over his chest, toeing his shoes off as he goes. His belt goes next (and maybe he thinks about another pair of hands, but then again, maybe he doesn’t).

From her nest on the floor, Jyn is quiet. Then: “You’re unarmed.”

He almost rolls his eyes, but the incredulity in her voice makes him pause. He glances at her and sees her watch as his belt falls to the floor.

“This is my room,” he says, voice dry. “And just because you can’t see the blaster doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

He tries not to bristle as Jyn begins to look him over. Her gaze drags across his skin and seeps through his clothes, and suddenly his trousers are a touch too tight. Cassian swallows and glares at her when her eyes meet his again.

When she smirks at him, he thinks the world is going to catch on fire.

“How much did you drink, captain?”

Cassian huffs, making a show of being offended. He sees Jyn’s smile slip from the corner of his eye and almost regrets it, but the feeling comes and goes in an instant.

“More than I should have,” he admits aloud. “But enough that I felt like I could come back here.” He rolls onto his side, presenting Jyn with a clear picture of his back. “Go back to sleep, Erso,” he orders.

He listens, waiting for her to settle back into her pile of blankets. All the while, he tries to make himself comfortable, kneading at the mattress like an overgrown loth-cat. She slumps, at some point, murmuring quietly as she slips back into her nest.

Cassian flops onto his back and watches as the world spins, listening as she shuffles in place. He glances at her and catches a glimpse of her eyes shining in the dim light that the night provides. He fixes his attention back on the ceiling with a frown and busies himself measuring out the panel lines where they crisscross above his head.

He’s not sure when he starts humming. He’s even less sure when he starts singing. The song is one that’s been drilled into the back of his head, down into the muscles of his heart. It’s not in standard, and there are words that he can speak even if he doesn’t know the meaning, but it hushes the room and leaves his tongue tingling, his eyelids heavy.

Eventually, he turns over towards Jyn with a sigh.

“Erso,” he whispers, watching as her form shifts. “Erso. Wake up.”

She doesn’t look like she’s fallen asleep since he’s arrived; there’s an alertness to her movements that Cassian is intimately familiar with. “What do you want?” she hisses back.

“My blankets, preferably,” Cassian says. “Give me one back.”

Jyn pulls the blankets towards her at once. Cassian furrows his brow as he watches her revert from grown woman to young child, her mouth curling with possessiveness and…a touch of fear. “No.”

He stares at her through narrowed eyes, trying to make out her ticks through the haze of alcohol and darkness. She grips the blankets tighter as he leans forward, her mouth thinning. He reaches out, anyway, letting the tips of his fingers brush against her nest.

The moment she looks as though she’ll reach out and smack him, he stops. His mouth curls upward without his permission, and he settles back, shuffling against his mattress.

“Okay,” he says, staring upward once again. “Then come to bed.”

He doesn’t see Jyn’s mouth drop open, but he knows it does. She’s gaping when he glances at her, and he can’t stop his smile from turning into a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” the unflappable Jyn Erso sputters. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Cassian says. “Come to bed.” He pats the mattress again.

He hears Jyn’s jaw snap shut and has to keep himself from laughing. He waits, and waits, then waits some more, listening as the blankets shuffle and Jyn’s gears turn.

When he looks at her again, the bitterness has gone out of her face. She looks, he thinks, genuinely confused. He feels his smirk soften.

“Think of it this way, Jyn,” he says, his words slurring a bit. “With you sleeping here, I get some of the blankets, and you get to keep a better eye on me. Doesn’t that seem fair to you?”

He watches as her lips thin. She considers him for a longer, and then – by some miracle of the Force, _finally_ – her grip on the blankets relaxes.

Cassian fights back a grin as she rises from her nest, as proud and tall as a queen. The grin slips, though, when he takes her in properly. She’s – she’s wearing one of his shirts, and – and her hair is down, just past her shoulders, and –

The blankets land in his lap without so much as word from her mouth. Cassian swallows past a lump that’s taken refuge in his throat; he can only watch as she gathers up his pillow and comes to his side.

K-2SO has informed him that he’s prone to making reckless decisions. This seems like another one to add to his already lengthy list.

“Come on,” Jyn says, shooing him towards the wall. Cassian dodges just in time to miss the bulk of her body weight, but her sleep-warm body brushes up against his, all the same. “I want to sleep as much as you do,” Jyn adds, tucking her feet up onto the bed.

“Right,” Cassian rasps. He clears his throat and reaches down to take one of the blankets in hand. He spreads it out as best he can over the both of them, then goes to work on the other. When he tries to take his pillow, better to share it between the two of them, Jyn knocks his hand away. She brings her arm up underneath her head to cushion herself against the mattress and closes her eyes without another word.

Cassian isn’t sure how long he stares, but it’s long enough for her to open her eyes again. The darkness makes it hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her smile, if only for an instant.

“Go to sleep, captain,” she says, and he shivers at the authority tucked into her voice. “We have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

“Right,” Cassian mutters, shuffling under the sheets. “Right, right.”

He closes his eyes, a few moments later.

He doesn’t know how he manages to fall asleep with the world spinning and Jyn pressed to his side. The darkness of the room seems to gather close, though, and lull him into a state of peace that renders him deep into the depths of the night.

(It won’t shelter him from the hangover he’ll have in the morning, but he thanks it in the moment before he drifts off, snuggling closer to Jyn’s tentatively offered warmth.)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
